


Campaigning and Kingship

by fawatson



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Military sci-fi take on some events within <i>The Persian Boy</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gadrosia of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements:** The idea for this absurdity originated from innervoice_chan’s request for Alternative Universe stories, coupled with her imaginative drawing of Bagoas as ‘the Persian Cat’. Its execution also owes something to my familiarity with military science fiction written by people like David Drake and John Ringo.
> 
> Hephty Mynton = Hephaistion  
> Bags Merouw = Bagoas  
> Rex Alexander = Alexander the Great  
> Paul Kostis = Peukestas  
> Peta = Drypetis  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hephaistion (Hephty Mynton) rescues Bagoas (Bags Merouw) from the Gadrosian desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 22/06/2009

Sergeant Hephty Mynton moved remarkably lightly for such a heavily burdened man as he rounded the hill. His muscled torso gleamed with sweat. He had long since discarded his overshirt. His undershirt was wet from his exertion, and dark circles round the neckline and under his armpits bore testimony to his body’s hard use. He kept it on to protect his shoulders from the rub of the plasma rifle he carried strapped to his back. The trail before him was faint, but nonetheless he could still see signs of the path the brigade had followed earlier that day. 

Where was that boy? No one had realised the native guide had fallen behind until they made camp for the night. Lt Rex Alexander had been stoic in everything he said, when he realised Merouw was missing, but Hephty could see how deep this loss cut. So many had been lost on this march that Hephty found it hard to believe one more made such a difference. But there was no doubt Rex seemed to set considerable store on this particular scout. Certainly he had proved his worth several times in the recent past with his knowledge of local customs and the terrain. And, in the way of his people, the native lad had sworn allegiance to Rex and followed him with some kind of unquestioning loyalty – far greater than the normal allegiance soldiers felt for their commander. Hephty had sensed this made the Lieutenant feel responsible for Merouw in some way far beyond the norm. 

In large part he resented the importance the lieutenant placed on the native. He had served in Rex’s brigade for many years as his stalwart right-hand man, and knew himself respected and trusted for his years of service and good counsel in battle. He knew no native could supplant him, but he could not fathom how the scout had become so important to Rex so quickly. Nonetheless, it was clear his loss was keenly felt. Without fanfare, Hephty had made his preparations and surreptitiously slipped out of camp to retrace the day’s journey. 

A slight sound attracted his attention. Hephty swivelled left, peering into a rocky overhang. Tattered crimson caught his eye and he walked a little way off the trail to investigate. There he was – behind that boulder. Fur dusty, eyes slitted as protection against the drying heat, nostrils quivering and mouth wide and panting, he looked very much the worse for wear; but unmistakably it was the local scout. His claws were broken and bleeding from digging in the dry stream-bed, trying to reach water. Hephty unhooked the canteen from his belt, bent down, and placed it against the catman’s mouth. Merouw’s throat moved almost convulsively as he sucked and his tail twitched. The scout’s eyes opened, reluctantly at first, then widened in surprise as he took in the sight of his rescuer. 

Hephty's smile was somewhat skeptical. He supposed he – like many others of the advance assault party – had made no secret of his distrust of the locals. Rex seemed to have some special innate gift that made it easy for him to communicate with them – understand their ways – win them over to the Star Federation’s side in the war against the alien Bessite monsters. Hephty had been more cautious, though he had to acknowledge this scout had proven his worth more than once in the disastrous campaign this landing had turned into. Not for the first time he cursed the stupidity of distant HQ suppliers and armchair generals who had sent them out ill-equipped for the barren conditions of this rocky world. Fortunately some of the natives had proven friendly, and willing to offer their aid to overthrow alien oppressors. Otherwise it would have been far worse.

“Can you walk?”

“I will manage,” came the proud and dignified response.

But the catman staggered as he rose. Grimly Hephty looked on Merouw’s stumbling gate as he tried to make his way back to the trail. At this rate the rest of the survivors would have broken camp before they ever found their way back. Sighing inwardly Hephty accepted the inevitable and unshouldered his trusty rifle. Its charge was almost exhausted now anyway, and there would be no place to recharge it until they were off-planet, but he had carried it throughout this campaign and had a certain reluctant affection for it now. With practised ease he flipped the power pack out from the barrel and crushed it beneath his boot, so no enemy could scavenge it, before discarding the now empty weapon. 

Catching up, one hand on Merouw’s shoulder halted the catman’s unsteady progress. He looked puzzled as Hephty kneeled down. 

“Get on,” Hephty said. “I’ll carry you.” Then as the native didn’t seem to understand, he added, somewhat impatiently, “piggy-back.”

“Piggy-back?” came the hesitant response. 

Hefty supposed he must never have heard the term before, which really shouldn’t come as a surprise given its Earther origins. He moved the scout into position behind his back, then rose, hooking his arms underneath Merouw’s knees as he stood, and clasping his hands in front. Automatically Merouw’s thin arms gripped round his shoulders and neck trying to keep his balance. The scout’s muzzle bumped into Hephty’s neck. His long whiskers tickled.

Hephty walked on, his tread slower and heavier now, partly because of his own exhaustion, partly because of the burden he carried, though in truth the native was of such slight build he did not weigh that much more than the discarded rifle. Hephty found himself strangely more aware as he walked the trail this time, noticing landmarks in a way he never had before, and, gradually, noticing the purr emanating from the scout on his back. No: not a purr – not exactly. It was... it was... and then finally he realised. Those whiskers, so long and sensitive, allowed Merouw to communicate mind to mind with those he touched. That was why the natives had such rudimentary speech. That was why Merouw sat at Rex’s feet, rubbing his head against Rex’s legs whenever they entered a village and negotiated with the headman. That was how Rex knew to trust Merouw. 

**Exactly** the purr said, mind-to-mind. **Now you understand. Not all Earthlings can hear us this way, but those who can, we will follow.**

“And the Bessites?” Hephty asked – out loud, because he was not quite sure he trusted thought alone. 

**The Bessites never can.**

At last Hephty understood the importance Rex placed on this little catman with his soft fur, elegant tail, and so sensitive whiskers – this one and the others of his ilk. Their loyalty won, they would put their talents to the Earthers’ cause, bringing victory against the monstrous aliens nearer to hand. 

**And more** came the thought. 

A strong feeling of well-being, complete acceptance, and almost perfect love percolated through his entire being, and, as an unexpected heat rose within his loins when they reached the outskirts of the camp, Hephty realised just _how_ endearing was this little catman. 

**Bags** came the purr, soft as a whisper. **My name is Bags – to my friends.**


	2. Hunting Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after his wedding night with Drypetis (Peta), Hephaistion (Hephty) goes hunting boar (grap).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally Posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 28/10/2009  
>  **Originally written for:** Spooky Story Challenge 2009  
>  **Prompt** : Cobwebs   
> **Acknowledgements:** alexandria_47's comments about serving at the mass wedding staged by Alexander the Great contributed to this story. She turns up as 'Dria' in this story.

Apparently it was tradition to hold a hunt the day after a wedding. Not that it had been a _wedding_ exactly, but Rex had said he’d got the idea for the formal alliance from some ceremony in that damned book! Hephty Mynton sighed inwardly as he climbed to the crest of the hill. Despite all the gear he was carrying, he’d still far outstripped the clan warriors who’d come with him. Of course he wasn’t supposed to have so many weapons. Spears! That was what he’d been told to use – spears! It was _tradition._ Fuck tradition! The day was perfect for hunting grap – clear and bright. It should bring them out of their hidey holes in droves. No problems there. But they were _big_ beasts – with _big_ tusks, not to mention sharp pointed hooves at the end of all six legs. Moreover grap armour might look like coarse black hair, but it was the devil to poke holes in. So he’d brought along his plasma rifle as well, plus a side arm. Besides, resupply was in and he’d just been issued a new Mk77B. Not the old Mk77A he was familiar with; this was supposed to be a new and improved model, with longer reach. If he was lucky, he might have the chance for a little target practice while he was up here. 

For now, Hephty decided to sit down and enjoy the view while he waited for the rest of the hunting party to join him. From below he could hear excited shouts from other groups as they chased game through the undergrowth. Above him, he could see one of those spider creatures spinning its web amongst the branches of the tree he leaned against. It was an industrious little animal. Not really a spider: it was more a sort of squirrel (about the size of one, too). But it had eight legs and trapped its food with webs, so inevitably that’s what all the Earthers called the creatures. This particular spider was wild; but the locals had domesticated herds they farmed and harvested, both for the webs that spun into fine silk, and for their meat, which apparently tasted like chicken. He was a bit dubious about that one; supply sergeants _always_ said it tasted like chicken when they wanted you to try some native concoction! Though, he’d certainly eaten some strange foods in all the years he’d followed Rex - even if chicken they _weren’t_!

A loud shout from below alerted Hephty to the fact all the hunting parties (including his own) were now converging on one spot in the shrubbery, below and to the right. He stood and watched momentarily but decided not to join them. By the time he got there it would all be over, bar the bragging. Besides, notwithstanding the fleeting burst of energy that had taken him up the hill quickly, he was still somewhat tired from last night. Who would have thought his ‘bride’ Peta would be so lusty? He wondered if all the others had had such a time of it. Still, Rex’s plan to get each of his senior officers adopted into native clans would bring all eighty tribes into close alliance with the Star Federation. 

After a disastrous start, where they lost most of the first brigade in that desert campaign, the army had done pretty well. Of course, it had helped that all those incompetent armchair generals they’d started out with had been killed in the first few weeks, leaving just Rex in charge. Located on the far reaches of the Federation as they had been, no replacement commander had been immediately forthcoming. Instead, Rex had taken charge, promoting from within the ranks of survivors, and recruiting the locals. All-in-all, he’d proven a brilliant strategist as the years went on, until finally HQ had recognised his contribution by raising him to Brigadier General. For once the powers that be had got something right. Rex’s armies had now pretty much eliminated the Bessite monsters from this world. Occasional holdouts were still found, normally some group cut off and accidentally left behind during the aliens' mass withdrawal; but for the most part they posed little threat. However, word from Earth was that the Bessites still threatened other parts of the galaxy. This new alliance with the catmen would help them take victory out to the rest of the beleaguered Star Federation. Provided, of course, it was _permitted_ in that damned book Rex and Bags were so enamoured of!

Hephty unstrapped his gun belt, checked the safety was on, and placed his pistol in the rucksack before rummaging in the bottom to find his reader. The little flat box, measuring just one inch square, was normally loaded with maps. Well, it still was (it had an amazing memory), but it also had the full text of an archaic book. He’d never heard of it until he came across Bags one day, sitting cross-legged in Rex’s tent, engrossed in reading. The little catman had had to learn Terran English to make it out (quite the little linguist and scholar that scout had turned out). Hephty had been dismissive of Bags’ claim to be one of the characters reincarnated, until, that is, Rex had started in about fate and cooked up his ‘marriage’ idea. After that, Hephty had downloaded a copy of the novel and started reading. He’d got as far as the campaign to India. Now let’s see what else was in store. One thing he did have to admit – Renault wrote a cracking good yarn. Hephty settled back on the ground and started to read the holo-projected words that appeared in the air in front of him.

The sun shone brightly in the heat of the day; insects buzzed; and the spider hanging in the branches above scuttled over to sting a smaller animal that became tangled in its web. Hephty read on, oblivious. He frowned as he followed the army’s trek across the desert, understanding at last Bags’ interest in this book. Loud rustling sounded nearby and a mother jakkah bird shrieked warning to her fledgling; but it wasn’t until the Bessite burst through the shrubbery in its headlong charge that Hephty was alerted to danger. He leaped up, rifle to hand, and hurriedly aimed through its sight. The trigger jammed, then broke off in his hands. Cursing the sub-standard piece of equipment those _bastards_ in rear echelon had issued, he grabbed hastily for the nearest weapon and threw it at the monster. His spear struck home. The monster roared with pain, but with a little shake, dislodged the spear from its now ruined left eye, and continued to come at him. Hephty bent to pull frantically at the straps fastening his rucksack, his heart sinking in the realisation he was running out of time. The Bessite was almost upon him. 

A spear came whizzing past Hephty’s ear and buried itself in the neck of his opponent. It wasn’t enough to kill, but the nanomolecular steel point distracted and slowed just long enough. Hephty pulled his antimatter pistol clear and drilled the monster through the cranium. It dropped dead at his feet. Warily he looked round in case there were more, but the Bessite appeared to be alone. Only the single catwoman, who had come to his rescue with her spear, was nearby. He looked at her closely, surprised. He remembered her from the feast yesterday. She had dropped a serving dish while waiting table. Bags had glared while she stood there, staring at him, her whiskers turning blue in embarrassment. Who would have thought she could throw like that! 

“Thanks,” said Hephty. “Your spear saved my bacon.”

“Bacon?” 

Lordy, thought Hephty, she was turning blue again! “That’s just an Earther way of saying you saved my life. I’m Hephty Mynton, though I guess you already know that. What’s your name?”

“Dria.” 

“You’re good with that.” He pointed at the spear which rested on the ground. “Where did you learn to throw so well?”

Dria’s whiskers were positively glowing now and even the tips of her ears had turned peacock. She ducked her head in shyness as she answered. 

“I’ve been training with Colonel Kostis’ regiment.”

Hephty nodded, understanding. Paul Kostis might wear some _weird_ shit – at last night’s celebration he’d even been wearing a _dress_ – but he definitely knew how to fight. A year ago Rex had put Kostis in charge of training the native troops. They’d already been good; but under his command they had gone from strength to strength. 

“I hadn’t realised he had females in his levy,” Hephty remarked. He wouldn’t have thought Dria could colour up even more, but at these words she proved him wrong. 

“I’m not one of the regulars,” she admitted. “I’m training to join Peta’s guard.”

Hephty nodded. Although they ran a modern army using the latest weapons, the catmen were quite traditional in many ways, and had never allowed women into their military. Rex was introducing a variety of innovations as he incorporated natives more fully into his forces. Eventually, he planned to use them as replacements for most, if not all, of his Federation forces. Some of his galactics had been with him from the beginning and were overdue relief. Rex was a popular commander, but even so the troops yearned for home and families they had left behind years before. Understandably, however, the catman elders had raised objections, afraid Rex’s plans would draw all the native soldiers off-planet, leaving home defence bare. Rex had countered this by suggesting they train the females as a home guard. It was a new concept; but his standing as their saviour against the Bessite hordes had overcome objections. Bags had been tireless in the negotiations, and his skill at arranging the ‘marriages’ for Rex’s senior officers had cemented plans. 

So…young Dria was one of the home guard, was she? Moreover – one of _Peta’s_ home guard, which meant she would be living in the same household. Hephty looked again, this time noticing the supple, shapely figure in front of him. As he understood catman culture, these ‘marriages’ they’d all just entered into didn’t just involve the ‘bride’. Native families normally had multiple partners in a sort of harem arrangement. It – she – would bear looking into more closely, he thought: _much_ more closely. 

Hephty bent to retrieve weapons and rucksack, slung them over his shoulders, and then, with a gallant gesture, tucked Dria’s arm in his. 

“You must tell me more about your training,” he said, as they set off together to rejoin the rest of the hunting party.


End file.
